Goddess Liv Savell (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

he wrapped long fingers around it. He was drenched with sweat, the slick moisture running in rivulets down his forehead, and when he lifted his arm to drink, water sloshed wastefully down the front of his tunic before he could get any into his mouth.

After hours of running, he felt nothing like the mage who could, with a few drops of blood, unleash enough force to send a Goddess flying. Or the man who had spent the night dancing with a beautiful girl.

He wiped his mouth with his hand again, the acid taste of bile less intense after a few swallows of warm water, and managed a smile. “Thank you.”

Now, on the run from Enyo and at a loss for direction, the night Etienne had spent with Meirin was more dream than reality. Had she really danced with him? Sat on his lap to play cards? He was caught somewhere between hope and disbelief. Things like that didn’t happen to him.

He thought about asking her, seeing if she remembered it too, but changed his mind. Best not to chance it. He had the strangest feeling that he had made it all up after all.

“What do you think we should do now? When we get to Caerthleon?”

“Truthfully?” she asked, taking back the nearly empty canteen and stashing it in her pack again. As Etienne nodded, Meirin glanced up at the sky. No sign of Delyth.

“How do you hide from a God? As far as we know, Enyo is tracking us much the same way we are tracking her. She and Delyth share blood. And she drank yours as well…”

“I’m the only one she cannot follow—I suppose the best chance of success would be for me to take the artifact and run. Hide in the city with all the people, but…” She looked away, down the road towards the distant city, still invisible to their eyes. “Then you and Delyth would be on your own.”

Etienne hesitated a long moment, running a hand back through his too-long hair. His eyes were trained towards the skies, though unfocused. “By that logic, perhaps we should all three separate.” The idea of leaving Meirin, or even Delyth, was unpleasant, but it did make sense. “Delyth can move so much faster that she would be able to lead the Gods in a merry chase before Enyo thought to track me instead. And by then, I could be far enough from you to ensure your safety.”

If he thought about it that way, like he was protecting Delyth and Meirin rather than running away, then he could do it. He could leave them. If he had to. If it came to that.

“Of course… The problem is we had many Gods long ago. I do not know all their names; I doubt anyone remembers them all except those who were there… And we only have one artifact. What’s to say Enyo won’t give up chasing us and go searching for a different one?” Meirin shrugged, her expression unreadable. “What were you thinking about when you cast Enyo off of Delyth last night?”

“I… I don’t know,” Etienne said, clenching a fistful of blond hair while he tried to remember just what had been going on in his head the night before when he came flying into the clearing only to see Delyth bearing the brunt of Enyo’s fury.

Had he even been thinking at all? Etienne only remembered feeling. Fear for Meirin and himself. Guilt for leaving Delyth. Perhaps that had been the key. He had paid for the spell and sent it pummelling towards Enyo based on emotion alone. Finally, out of his own way.

Only, that didn’t seem to make sense… He had felt plenty when facing the Goddess before…

“Well…” Meirin shifted the straps of her pack over her shoulder, contemplative. Then she smiled brightly up at him and shrugged. “It worked. So maybe you should try to do that again. Whatever it was. The Gods are going to catch up to us sooner or later. Likely sooner. Before we get to Caerthleon. It’s not like we can keep this pace up all day, and we’ve seen them. They can run—Even as injured as Enyo seemed.”

Meirin glanced behind them, but there was no sign of their pursuit. Nor Delyth.

“I wish we could get to Caerthleon before the Gods arrive.”

Etienne rubbed at his chest, imagining that he could feel the hand-shaped scar there through his clothes. Would getting better at Delyth’s brand of magic help him to lift whatever spell Enyo had bound him with? Yesterday, magic had come as easily as breathing, and today it felt as though he was no closer.

He shook himself, rising from his thoughts long enough to process Meirin’s words. “Cheer up,” he said, his smile bordering on sardonic. “They’re probably chasing us rather than racing to the city. So we will make it first. If we make it at all.”

Meirin managed to laugh. Even being hunted down by angry Gods, she couldn’t be morose for long. “Indeed? I suppose you’re right. How lucky we are. We should keep going. Delyth can catch up.” She started to walk, clearly not intending to pick up their run again, but still determined to make some progress towards Caerthleon and its supposed safety. It was all a futile attempt to postpone the inevitable, but they had to try anyway. If they didn’t, they might as well hand Thloegr, Ingola— all of Illygad over to the Old Gods.

And they’d made their choice.

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Delyth had ranged too far ahead.

Lake Gastwyr was a silver line behind her, hidden by the curve of the world. Ahead, Thloegr was aflame.  At the very edge of her vision, she could make out a scar marring the land before Caerthleon, still too distant to make out. Closer, the dotted catastrophes of individual towns or holdings had become great smears of smoking black.

Anxiety and urgency waged war in Delyth’s gut. She had to get the artifact